


Reconciliation

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Episode Related, Fluff, Gap Filler, No Slash, Points of View, Romance, Season/Series 03, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-17
Updated: 2004-03-17
Packaged: 2018-12-27 10:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12079047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Gap-filler for 308-309; Justin reflects on how he managed to worm his way back under the wire and into Brian's arms.





	Reconciliation

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

I couldn't believe I'd worked up the gall to come back. 

Brian had thrown me out; okay, if you want to get technical, I left him, then I left Ethan (both for justifiable reasons), then I realized, after a month or so, that the only thing leaving Brian had gotten me was bloody hands and the realization that words don't mean shit if you don't intend to act on them. And then I realized that I wanted Brian back. 

Contrary to popular belief, I wasn't on the rebound, and I didn't have any startling revelations (although the wet dream about him fucking me in mid-air was certainly nice). I just ... started being able to read him -- again; I don't think I was ever unable to, per se. I've always had a knack for seeing through Brian's carefully laid facades, right into the murky depths of his (God forbid) soul -- but then I started feeling unappreciated, and it nagged at me, and after a while, the paranoia ate away at my innate sixth sense. Brian became a stranger to me, as distant and aloof as people often mistake him for; I closed myself off from his attempts to show me that he loved me (which he did, frequently, I understand that now), and in doing so, it inevitably damned our relationship, or whatever you want to call it.

But pathetic as it sounds, I've always held out for the idea that everybody has a soulmate, that destiny will somehow bring them together and see them through the rough spots. And maybe it's presumptious of me to believe that the first guy I ever fuck is who I'm meant to spend the rest of my life with, but that's how I felt about Brian pretty much from the moment we made eye contact across the parking lot of Babylon that fateful night. Okay, the *first* thing I thought about him was, "Jesus Christ, he's *hot*," but that's just par for the course when you first gaze upon Lord Kinney. 

But I digress. I didn't return to Brian's side right away, lapping up his attention and sending him sorrowful puppy-dog glances as soon as Ethan was out of the picture, and I'm proud of myself for that. I don't like to think I'm that much of a drama queen, for one thing; and for another, when Ethan and I first broke it off, I was honestly not intending to pursue Brian again. He hadn't done anything to re-earn my trust or admiration or love; he'd just seemed to accept that things had changed and I wasn't the same doting child he'd fucked a couple of years back because he'd been bored and feeling the strain of his impending thirtieth birthday. On the other hand, if I subconsciously hadn't known that Brian was waiting around in the wings, so to speak, would that have made Ethan's cheating any less atrocious? I don't know.

What I do know is that Daphne is a genius - or at the very least, just as much of a letch as I am. "Do you remember Bill Houser?" she asked, after I admitted to her that I probably needed to see a shrink for my Brianissues. 

"I remember you made an idiot of yourself," I laughed dryly. She swatted me on the arm, then proceeded to explain how her meticulous stalking attempts (i.e.: getting ahold of his schedule and accidentally-on-purpose running into him wherever he went) helped her to bag the object of her affections. I was skeptical; "that sounds too easy."

"Well, it's not as if Brian doesn't know you're persistent," she cackled, and then stole my last cigarette to add insult to injury. She was right, of course - I *had* been a persistent little twat as far as cornering Brian originally had gone. But ... this was different; when we first met, my pursuing him had been somewhat playful, even childish. This time, the stakes were much higher, the prospect of failure much, much greater. And we were both, if I do say so myself, on pretty equal ground; I had my work cut out for me. 

Thus began my stalking of the elusive Mr. Kinney. It was rather clever, if I do say so myself -- I got in touch with Vanguard, formulating the excuse that I needed to satisfy my internship requirement for school (which wasn't a lie), and managed to snag a position in the art department at the very office that Brian spent the better part of his week. I'll never forget his face as I pretended we were meeting for the first time in front of his co-workers. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kinney," I'd asserted, bowing my head with a charming display of respect. He went through the motions of shaking my hand, but I could tell he was struggling to keep his composure; his eyes were confused and furious and dumbstruck all at once. Had we been in bed, that look could have only led to my being spanked or otherwise punished; as it was, he made some flimsy excuse about having to look over my paperwork and called - well, demanded, really - me to follow him into his office. 

"What the fuck," he began as soon as the door was shut, "are you doing here?" 

"I was going to tell you," I winced, faltering slightly. 'Don't wuss out,' I chided myself. 'He talks big, but his bark is worse than his bite. Just picture him nak- no, no *don't* picture him naked.' This was not good. I proceeded to refute Brian's arguments with the grace of a seasoned debater, or at least, someone who'd been around him long enough to pick up a few tricks along the way (no pun intended). Finding himself backed into a corner (one of his least favorite positions; take it from me, I know), Brian had no choice but to "allow" me to stay on as an intern. I was in.

However, as you may have guessed, the worst was yet to come. Convincing Vanguard of my talent was a small feat compared to convincing Brian to give me a chance as something other than his fuck partner. I'm not saying I didn't absolutely love the sex, but I knew that if our relationship was ever going to work out as a long-term thing, I had to make him see that I wasn't just his pet twink; that I, too, had talents and interests and something to contribute to the world; that he could be proud of me for other reasons besides the fact that I looked pretty attached to his arm - or his dick, as the case often was. 

And I had my chance, during a meeting with Eyeconic Optics; Brian was so impressed with my quick scrapping together of new boards (the old ones really did look like shit -- I don't know *how* some of the people in that art department keep their jobs for more than a week) that he told me to stay in the conference room for the meeting. I was nervous, I think, because I dropped a couple of things and had the urge to scratch myself in unseemly places while Brian was giving his sphiel (perfectly polished as always), but I managed to keep myself in check. 

But then the company representative, some hard-nosed, tight-assed chick who looked like she hadn't been fucked in years, cornered me. "Would you buy a pair of these glasses if you saw one of these ads?" she demanded. I stuttered an answer, caught off-guard. Then she started bitching about the font color; "orange," I mumbled, not realizing I'd spoken aloud until I felt Brian's eyes blazing a hole through my head.

"What did you say?" she spun around. I tried to deny saying anything; "no, no, you said *orange*," she enunciated. All eyes on me, now; shit.

"Everyone at art school says orange is the new blue," I confessed, trying to avoid staring at Brian's piercing hazel orbs. Did he always look so homicidal when his mouth twitched like that? I wasn't sure I wanted to find out; suffice to say, I can see why his associates are scared shitless of incurring his wrath. And after the meeting was over and the deal squared away, it became even clearer to me. 

"Orange is the new blue? What the fuck is up with that?" he burst out as I organized pens and markers on the other side of the small office.

"She asked me," I replied, biting my lip. I really *hadn't* meant to say anything. Fucking bitch.

"Well, who told you to answer?" he griped. We exchanged a few more heated words; "I'm sorry," I complied eventually. "It won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't; you're through," he bit out, eyes flashing again. 

"You're firing me?" I choked, incredulous. And he accuses *me* of being a drama queen.

"You wanted on-the-job experience, right?" he replied snidely. "Lesson one: you fuck up, you're gone." 

"But ... you got the account," I exclaimed, struggling to keep my voice from rising in pitch. God *damn* him. 

"And she got my balls, thanks to you," he said caustically. 

I couldn't believe it. "I should have expected this," I ranted, angrily throwing my minimal supplies into my bag. "After all, you never wanted me here to begin with. You won't have to see my face everyday when you come to work. Although a part of me ... was kinda of hoping that eventually, you wouldn't mind it. maybe even get used to it," I concluded softly.

Brian smirked. "What? When your little romance with Paganini Jr. was over, you could come running back?" Oh, so he *had* noticed. Something about that warmed my heart, even as my fists clenched in frustration.

"Something like that," I retorted.

"Sorry," he said flippantly, but I wasn't finished.

"I know. It was stupid." I could do clipped tones, too. 

"Almost as stupid as falling for his romantic bullshit in the first place," Brian scoffed. I gritted my teeth; as if he cared. "But you're young," he mused. "... inexperienced-" 

I cut him off. "What, and you're so smart!" I finally snapped. "If you had any fucking brains at all, you would never have let me leave!" I never claimed that I *wasn't* a drama queen. "You would have told me that I was making the biggest fucking mistake of my life, that I would live to regret it; that what you gave me was worth a thousand, no, a million times more than anything he had to offer." My throat was getting tight, now. "You would have told me that you loved me," I choked out. "That you would go on loving me even after I was gone." 

I half-expected Brian to walk out of the room in the middle of my diatribe, but he surprised me by getting up in my face. "Is that what you were waiting to hear?" he asked, features unreadable.

"Yes," I declared, and then resorted to pointing fingers again. "But as usual, you never said it, so it's just as well that I go." I made a big show of gathering my bag and made a move for the door, but again, Brian surprised me by grabbing my waist. 

"That is *so* like you!" he exclaimed; I didn't know whether to be shocked or amused or infuriated or pleased that he'd been cataloguing my behavior, so I stayed silent. "You don't hear what you want, so you leave. Try standing up for yourself for a change. Have some balls, be a man." His eyes bore into mine, and I realized that I had nothing to lose by taking him up on his offer. So ... I kissed him; right there, just grabbed the back of his head and pulled his face in until his lips connected with mine. I can't even begin to describe how it felt; after months of no contact, the memories that flooded through me made my knees weak and my head dizzy. 

To my delight, Brian responded just as passionately, mouth sealed against mine, hot and wet and longing; it wasn't until his tongue started probing for entrance that I realized how much power I had at that moment in initiating the kiss, and broke it off, wanting to relish the position of dominance. There were no words; Brian tried to restore his usual mask of indifference, to straighten his tie and pretend as if he hadn't been affected by what had just transpired, but the flush in his cheeks, the unbridled passion in his eyes, the way his tongue swept unconsciously over his lower lip for another taste of *me* was a dead giveaway. I walked out of the office with a strange high; it was a mixture of elatedness at having finally one-upped Brian, and devastation at losing an internship that I had really been enjoying quite a lot over a completely unjustified series of events. 

I went to the diner for a quick bite to eat, since I'd skipped lunch to help Brian work on the Eyeconic Optics boards (although a fat lot of good that had done). Debbie looked at me curiously, still decked out in my sweater and slacks, but let me brood in peace. And as I nursed my cup of soup and half a turkey sandwich on rye, it finally sunk in: Brian really did want me back as much as I wanted to be back. All of the times since we'd broken up that he'd been unable to completely cut ties; all the awkward looks when we were in the same vicinity, the flutterings in my chest and pangs in my heart as I watched his retreating back stalk away in the opposite direction ... Brian wanted me. I wanted him. 

I was down, but I wasn't out.

-*-

So here I was, gall worked up, lines drawn, prize on the table. One way or another, something significant was going to take place in this office before the afternoon was up.

"Mr. Kinney?" I queried. There was something innately kinky about saying his name with such formality, I decided, bed or not. 

He looked up; I knew that he knew I'd be here - I'd called Cynthia to make sure he hadn't left for the day. "Taylor," he said decidedly; ooh, it was just as kinky when he said mine like that, too. "Come in. Sit down." I did. He looked bemused, his eyes giving way to a hint of playfulness even though his face was all business. "You wanted to see me?" he asked.

I took a deep breath. 'Here's the money shot, Taylor,' I admonished myself. 'Don't blow it.' Out loud: "I gave it some thought. I decided you should take me back."

Brian's eyebrows shot off his forehead - at least I'd gotten his attention. "Oh?" he replied simply, lips desperately trying not to quirk upwards.

"Even though I've made a few mistakes," I continued, tongue-in-cheek, "I think you'd be making an even bigger one not giving me a second chance." 

"I see," Brian vacillated, but I could see that the double innuendo had not eluded him.

I moved in for the kill. "'Cause now I understand what it is you want of me," I declared bravely. "And ... I know what I can expect of you." At this, Brian's eyes met mine, twinkling.

"You also understand," he grunted, "that you'll be required to work long, *hard* hours, sometimes deep into the night?" Bastard; he knows I can't keep a straight face when everything he says goes straight to my dick.

"It would be a pleasure to work under you, *sir*," I enunciated, hoping he felt the same jolt of desire pass through him. 

Brian sobered suddenly. "And you are never," he said, voice dropping to a pained whisper, "to play violin music in my presence again." It wasn't a question; it was, however, a declaration. 'Yes, Justin,' it said, in its own, Brian-esque way; 'it did bother me. I missed you; can we put it behind us? Can we be a *we* again?' 

"I promise," I replied softly, eyes threatening to mist up. 

Brian stood and walked around to the other side of his desk, legs crossed casually as he loosened his tie; I watched, wanting - no, needing - him to make the next move. He did not disappoint; "well, then," he replied in our carefully coded language. "You can start" - he pushed a pile of books out of the way to give himself a perch - "immediately." 

I looked up at the man I'd loved and lost and never stopped loving, and stood to walk to the door. Time stood still; when I shut the door to the office, and turned back to Brian, I felt like a million others had been opened. 

"Brian," I murmured, sashaying back to him; his slouching gave me, in my full upright position, a slight height advantage over him, and for the second time that afternoon, I reveled in the feeling of power that came from grasping the back of his head and leaning in for a kiss. But unlike the hasty one of a few hours prior, this kiss was slow, melodious, careful, exploratory, and loving. Brian made a noise in the back of his throat as my tongue probed his mouth, and when familiar hands came up to pull me closer, I nearly melted. *This* was right - this was the man I'd fallen in love with, and this was my reward for learning my lesson about even thinking anybody else would remotely substitute for him. 

Excitedly, I made a move to undress Brian, but he batted my hands away, reaching instead for the hem of my sweater/shirt combination. A quick lifting of arms, and I was naked from the waist up; Brian appraised me, eyes roving over budding pectorals and skin two or three shades paler than his own. He pulled me in for a kiss, hands running through my hair, over my back, up my arms, coming to rest on the seat of my pants. Our crotches, still clothed, ground against one another, and I grinned, realizing we were both extremely aroused. 

"You have to get undressed, too," I complained teasingly as Brian's fingers found the clasp of my pants and undid it, sliding the intrusive clothing, underwear and all, down to the floor. Coming back up, he stopped part-way and kissed a trail from my chest to the swatch of hair below my naval, making me groan. "Aaah, shit," I gasped as he began fondling my stiff member. He gazed up at me, eyes narrowed into lustful slits, and then took the length into his mouth. When his tongue swirled around the head, my toes even curled. It wasn't like I hadn't been fucking-and-sucking since our split, but there was something about Brian, down on his knees, mouth wrapped indulgently around my cock, hands roaming my backside, still dressed in his work clothes that made it a million times better than anything I could have had with anyone else, Ethan included. 

"B-brian, n-not yet," I moaned headily as he fondled my balls. "Don't want to c-come yet." He withdrew at that, and I pulled him up to cover his mouth with mine. I'd never been much for tasting myself, but mixed with the unique flavor of him, I couldn't get enough of it as my tongue greedily ran over and under his. "Now you," I demanded, unbuttoning his shirt before he had a chance to protest. "Get naked. I want you to fuck me." 

Brian chuckled. "Is that so?" he grinned as I helped him pull off his own pants and underwear. Soon, his clothing joined mine on the floor, and my eyes swept over his leanly muscled frame as if seeing him nude for the first time. The subject of countless sketches and paintings of mine, I never tired of Brian being naked; and now that he was mine again, so much the better. 

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I gave myself leverage to be hoisted up on top of Brian's desk, legs wrapping around his waist in silent persistence. My hands kneaded his shoulders, stopping when he flinched slightly. "What is it?" I asked, immediately concerned. He didn't answer, but didn't protest, either, when I turned him around to stare at the offensive light pink mark on the back of his right shoulder blade. "What happened?" I pressed, gingerly tracing it with my fingertips.

"Mikey's hunk of man-meat's gone a little steroid crazy," Brian grunted disapprovingly, and I knew immediately that he was referring to Ben. "He shoved me against a locker at the gym," he continued. "It's nothing."

"It is to me," I murmured, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on the mark. Brian's breath hitched, and I took that as initiative to run my tongue over it, my own hot breath coupling with the action to produce a soft sigh from my dark-haired lover. Turning back around, he scooped me into his arms momentarily, and helped position me on my back atop the desk. The hard wood wasn't exactly the blue duvet or even Ethan's lumpy mattress, but I wouldn't have cared if Brian had pulled me into a bathroom stall, so long as he fucked me. As it was, this seemed a lot more intimate, except ... "I think I left the door unlocked," I panted in slight alarm, as Brian's hand coaxed my erection back to parade formation. 

"Kinky," he said approvingly, continuing his ministrations. I pulled him in for another mind-blowing kiss, and he eventually conceded as our dicks rubbed against each other again. "Lube and condoms are in the top drawer," he ground out, and I quickly retrieved them, ripping the condom package open with my teeth as I'd seen Brian do many times. "That's a handy little trick," he teased.

"So is this," I grinned, giving his cock a swift tug; this eventually led to my rolling the condom onto his dick, another skill that I was well-versed in. As Brian moved back into place to fuck me, he bent over me, taking care to dot my face and neck with kisses. "I missed you," I murmured as he tweaked one of my nipples and then the other.  
"I missed you, too," he admitted; the man was just full of surprises today. Legs once again wrapped securely around his waist, Brian prepared my ass for entry, fingers snaking between the cheeks to apply lube and massage my prostate. My head fell back against the desk at the sensations; I hadn't been the fuckee for a long time. Something about the amount of control, the level of power had made me uneasy to just hand the reigns over to anybody - but for Brian, I would bottom in a heartbeat. I trusted him, I loved him, and, "ohhh, fuck," I hissed as his cock slid into me, pumping a few times to (re)acquaint itself.

"Did you ... miss this?" Brian inquired, thrusting rhythmically. His hands gripped my hips firmly yet gently, breath coming in gasps. Brian Kinney even looks beautiful caught in the throes of orgasmic pleasure; it would be sickening if it wasn't so fucking hot. 

"Yes," I replied, allowing my nails to leave soft, circular scratches along my lover's back. I knew it drove Brian crazy for me to do that, and rationalized that he deserved to see stars just as much as I did. 

"I- I'm almost there," he groaned after a while; he grasped my cock, untouched but still hard, and with fluid motions, brought me to the brink in only a few moments. "Justin," he managed as he came into the condom; a few more thrusts, and I was brought over the edge, too, spewing out a series of nonsense words, topped off with a well-placed, "God, Brian" for good measure. "Why, yes, we *are* the same person," he grinned, just begging me to thwap him on the shoulder. 

Brian leaned in for a kiss and nuzzled my neck affectionately as I lay there contently, hard wooden desk be damned. "So," I finally managed. "Is overtime always this ... long and hard?"

My lover smirked. "Not so much without a willing, hot partner," he inferred, kissing along my jawline, now. He noticed my indulgent, cat-like smile and gazed at me curiously. "What?"

"I was just thinking," I sighed happily, "about how this compared to my dream where we were fucking in mid-air." 

Brian genuinely laughed. "So on a scale of one to ten, how was this as a last-minute replacement?" he husked. 

I stared up at him meaningfully. "An eleven," I declared, and he pressed his lips to mine for another soul-searing kiss. 

"Hmmm, we should get cleaned up and head to Babylon," Brian suggested once we parted for air. "I'm sure we'll be the topic of conversation in the high society, tonight," he snorted.

"But what about keeping up appearances for the boss?" I gasped, feigning shock. "Whatever will he say?" 

Brian peeled himself off of me and helped me into a sitting position, admiring the way my legs dangled precariously over the side of his now spunk-covered office furniture. "Let's put it this way, Sunshine," he smiled, raising an eyebrow in typical Kinney fashion. "I won't tell him if you won't."

-*-

There's a phrase my mom used to describe her relationship with my father in the midst of the divorce. We - her, Molly and I - were at a fairly upscale restaurant, celebrating the sale of a house that she'd made that afternoon, and Mom pulled out the book of adages, perhaps to make us feel better about the split. "Sometimes," she'd declared, daintily swallowing a bite of penne pasta, "things that are broken should just stay broken. It causes less heartache to just accept it and move on than to try and fix it. You know, sweetie?" she asked, talking mostly to me.

"Sure, Mom," I had agreed at the time. I believe people have to tell themselves that sort of thing, rationalizing that if it was a tried-and-true method for somebody else, enough to be repeated and handed down, it might even have some merit for their specific situation. It gives people hope to know that they aren't the only ones out there, but in my specific case, I've found a saying that works even better: sometimes, things have to be broken, truly and completely ripped to shreds, before they can be fixed. 

I should know. I'm - Brian and I, *we* - are living proof of that.


End file.
